


Forgive Us Our Sins

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, F/M, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Priests, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: She makes no secret of her thoughts about him, calling him a fool, telling him he knows nothing. It’s not what Jon had been led to expect from a prostitute. Theon had told tales of girls as accommodating as they were wanton. Ygritte may be wanton, but she’s the farthest thing from accommodating.That he’s painfully excited by her because of it is what should shame him, but all it does is make him desperate for her.





	Forgive Us Our Sins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



It should fill him with nothing but shame.

It’s a feeling he’s more than familiar with. His father had always tried to keep him from experiencing the shame of his bastardy, but Ned Stark could not isolate him like a maiden in a tower, and too many times, Jon had felt the sting of the world’s judgment over the circumstance of his birth. It’s what drove him here, to this cold, barren outpost, ministering to people who didn’t want to hear the word of God from anyone, let alone a green boy thinking he could find his future by running from his past.

He could have made something honorable of it, though, as if he’d been as called to it as the most devout of his brothers in the priesthood. He’d never thought himself weak before coming here. Before Ygritte.

She’d teased him when she opened her door to him this evening. “Back again, eh? They must pay ye well in that brotherhood of yourn.”

He hadn’t told her he sometimes forwent food in order to afford her. Part of him wanted to tell her; she would have laughed in that coarse, raucous bark she had, pushed him down onto the threadbare sheets of her bed and taken his cock in a grip just shy of painful. She makes no secret of her thoughts about him, calling him a fool, telling him he knows nothing. It’s not what Jon had been led to expect from a prostitute. Theon had told tales of girls as accommodating as they were wanton. Ygritte may be wanton, but she’s the farthest thing from accommodating.

That he’s painfully excited by her because of it is what should shame him, but all it does is make him desperate for her.

He’s bound to a chair now, ankles lashed to the legs, hands tied behind the chair’s back, cock already hard and straining skyward. She’s been teasing him, touching him and then wandering off to tidy her room or comb her hair. When she sits gracelessly on her bed and spreads her knees wide, Jon’s cock somehow grows even harder.

“Perhaps I’ll take another man while you’re sitting there,” she muses, her hand drifting down her stomach to the fiery thatch of hair between her legs. At first, Jon is so spellbound watching her that he thinks the restraints may not even necessary, but then she speeds her fingers and moans, her head dropping back, and he knows that if he weren’t bound, he would be across the room instantly, face down in her, learning her with his mouth from the inside out.

“Would y’like that, Jon?” she pants, and he startles guiltily, feeling as if she was reading his thoughts until he remembers what she was speaking of. “Watching another man put his cock in me?”

He practically spends on the spot. He should feel shame. Jon had no idea how much failure he was capable of before coming north.

Perhaps taking pity on him, Ygritte stands and moves towards him. Again he’s struck by how the name suits her, with her skinny legs like an egret’s. Then she stands astride him, gripping his cock and seating the head of it just inside her. If he could get enough leverage, he could buck up and slide into the wet, hot welcome of her cunt, but even if he could, he wouldn’t. It’s another should-be shame that he likes the submission to her will, that he craves the clarity that comes of it.

“Ye could watch his big hands grabbin’ my tits.” Her hand fists hard in the hair at his nape to bring his head roughly to her breast. Immediately, eagerly, Jon opens his mouth to taste her, pushing his tongue at her nipple, latching and suckling like a hungry babe for fear she’ll pull away. She lets him suck for a bit, even lowers herself on his cock in a slow, delicious slide. The feel of her is indescribable. Suddenly Jon is filled with hate for everyone who allowed him to pursue the life of a priest, knowing that this is what he sacrificed. He risks shifting his head to her other breast, and is rewarded with the softening of her hand in his hair, her fingers loosening and nearly caressing his nape. Though she hasn’t moved on his cock, he’s on the brink of crisis just from being inside her. Somehow sensing it, she abruptly yanks his head away and stands, letting his cock slap back against his belly with a wet sound. There’s a hazy, dreamy smile on her face, and Jon feels a fierce rush of pride. He may have failed at the priesthood, but this one thing he does well.

Ygritte is seemingly at a loss as she looks around her. Then she sees the pile of his discarded clothing and her eyes light. A sense of anticipatory dread gathers in Jon’s gut. She has found so many of his secret weaknesses, some secret even to himself. When she wraps his collar around her neck and begins shrugging on his frock coat, he learns yet one more thing from her about himself, and he groans at the bolt of arousal that shoots through him.

She stands before him, feet wide, both hands curled in the lapels of his frock coat, which swims on her. He’s not especially tall, but she’s a tiny thing, someone Jon wishes to protect when he’s not in her bedroom, suffering her not-so-tender mercies. Chest up, cheeks puffed – looking uncannily like many brothers Jon has had – she affects a booming voice as she begins a perfect rendition of one of Jon’s own services.

“Brethren,” she calls out, “let us acknowledge our sins, and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries!”

For a moment, Jon forgets the excitement thrumming through him at the sight of her in his coat, even though the open lapels show the inner curves of her breasts and the flame-tipped apex of her thighs, which is somehow more erotic than seeing her completely bare. He forgets the uncomfortable chafe of the leather thong binding his wrists, and the numbing prickle in his bound legs. All he can do is stare at her in astonishment.

“You remember what I said.” It shouldn’t be so potent. She has no use for him as a man of God – frankly, Jon thinks _God_ probably has no use for him as a man of God – and his presence here in her village has been more of a curse than a blessing, but still she learned his words, listened to his voice. 

Frowning, Ygritte looks around her and seizes upon his belt. She advances on him, holding the belt in a loop with both ends in one hand, a wicked gleam in her eye, and the excitement comes flooding back.

“You’re interrupting,” she says, striking him lightly on his thigh with the belt loop just hard enough to sting. “What is it your lot says, mea culpa?”

Despite his arousal, Jon laughs. “No one says that anymore.”

Ygritte cocks her head to the side and smiles at him, a real smile showing the crooked teeth that he finds so charming. “Maybe they just haven’t sinned badly enough t’need to say it. Have ye sinned, Jon?”

“You know I have.” Her smile broadens into a grin. Pain blooms on his chest where she strikes him lightly with the belt and he groans and ducks his head. He can see her bare feet between his, can see the arousal leaking from the tip of his cock. Then he feels the looped end of the belt under his chin as she lifts his head to look at her.

“And d’ye want to sin again?”

“You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than sand. Something in the way he looks at her makes her falter. Suddenly she looks younger, softer, and it’s Jon heart that aches more than his cock.

Slowly, she moves astride him, her hand under his chin keeping his eyes on hers as she sinks down onto his cock. It’s only when her weight is fully upon him, his cock sheathed inside her, that she shudders and lets her head drop back, breaking eye contact. For a long moment, she only sits like that with him inside her, clenching and throbbing around him until he could come from that alone. Then she begins to move.

Jon has lain with her half a hundred times by now. Some days he’s come back to her as he would go to a kitchen for meals -- morning, midday, nightfall -- hungering for her in a way his privileged youth never let him hunger for food. But somehow this is different. Something between them has changed, and for the first time, he isn’t content to simply follow her desires.

“Ygritte, please,” he grunts, trying to keep himself from going off inside her like a firework. “For God’s sake, untie me.”

She smiles, her fingers drifting to his chest to toy with his nipples. “Takin’ th’lord’s name in vain, are ye?”

“Please, untie me. _Please,_ Ygritte.” His tone must convince her, because she reaches behind him to untie the scrap of leather holding his hands. The press of her breasts is exquisite, and Jon has to exercise every bit of his control. The moment his hands are free, he wraps one hand in her hair to pull her into a kiss and pushes his other hand between them to find the knot of nerves he’s watched her touch herself so many times, but that he’s never felt before.

“Jon,” she gasps, surprise in her voice. He’s never done this before, never been so active in bringing her pleasure, and dimly he’s aware of the change happening between them. That is something to think on another time, though. Now he only focuses on her, on moving his fingers in just the right way to wring gasps and squeaks and moans from her. Now, for the first time, he comes _with_ her, and he knows they’ve crossed a new threshold together, one that feels holier than anything Jon has ever found with the Church.

Later, when she’s untied him, she sits quietly on her bed and watches him as he dresses. The smell of her is inside his frock coat. Jon thinks he may not wash it again until he must. It seems as if she’ll let him go without a word, so with an inward sigh of resignation, Jon settles his hat upon his head and reaches for the door.

“Will,” her voice starts and falters from behind him. “Will ye come back to see me tomorrow?”

Jon smiles at the door. “I can’t afford it,” he says ruefully, cursing himself for his previous excess. He wishes he’d exercised the slightest restraint once before, to let himself see her again now, now when everything feels so new and strange and wonderful.

“Jon,” she says, and waits until he turns to look at her. “Come anyway.”

Jon looks at her so long she begins to fidget under his gaze. His words, when he finally speaks, are more measured than he feels. “Aye,” he says. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

He whistles all the way home.


End file.
